Everything Changes

by Melanie Hansen

  Was he running to help? Or running to kill?

  Jase’s brain shouted the answer at him, even as his heart—his uncle’s heart, his medic’s heart—protested what’d happened next, that moment in time he and Ashram had morphed from adult and child, from cautious friends, into enemies on a battlefield.

  As he sat there, gripping his pencil, something broke loose inside of him.

  I wish we’d met in a different time and place. I wish we hadn’t been on opposite sides of a war that nobody understands anymore. I wish our lives hadn’t intersected the way they did.

  A hot tear slid down his cheek.

  And I hope wherever you are now, you’re getting to be a kid. To just be a kid.

  “Thank you for the tea,” he wrote, and tossed the paper into the fire.

  Twenty

  The crunch of tires on gravel sent Carey’s heartbeat into overdrive.

  He shot to his feet as the dusty, filthy van lurched to a stop, the door sliding open to disgorge its equally filthy passengers.

  Carey’s fingers dug into the porch railing as the men trudged to the back to retrieve their rucks. Then Byrney produced a lockbox and distributed their phones.

  “See you all tomorrow morning at 0900 for one last debrief, fellas,” Byrney said. “Take liberty for the rest of the day. There’s a weight room, a hot tub, yoga and meditation classes, or just grab a shower and sleep.”

  He clapped guys on the back as they turned away, some hurrying eagerly to greet their wives and scoop their kids up in their arms, some wearily scuffing off to their rooms alone. Carey knew that their case managers—trained mental health counselors—would check on them all throughout the day and night.

  One thing we won’t do is drop them back into the middle of Afghanistan and just leave them there.

  After everyone had dispersed, Carey made his way down the stairs and hung back while Jase gave first Byrney, then Tom, tight, back-slapping hugs. “Thanks, guys, for kicking my ass. In more ways than one.”

  “Way to do the work, man,” Tom replied. “Way to do the fuckin’ work.”

  “See you tomorrow,” Byrney said as he headed toward his car, an ancient Jeep that’d definitely seen better days.

  Finally, Jase turned to face Carey, and their gazes met. They stared at each other for the space of a few heartbeats, neither of them speaking, until Jase said, “Hey, gorgeous. You’re a sight for sore eyes.” He spread his arms with a self-deprecating laugh. “And yeah, I’m an eyesore, I know.”

  “No. You’re beautiful.” Carey moved closer, quivering with a mixture of desire and sudden shyness. “Inside and out.”

  “Ah, babe.” Exhaling, Jase rasped, “If you say so,” his lips parting when Carey reached up to stroke his bearded cheek.

  “I do say so. And mmm, facial hair looks good on you,” he murmured, drifting his thumb along the curve of Jase’s scruffy jaw. “I’ve never kissed a mountain man before.”

  Chuckling, Jase slid his hands onto Carey’s hips and pulled him close. “Well, one’s about to kiss you now. You mind?”

  “What do you think?” Carey wound his arms around Jase’s neck. “I’d mind if you didn’t.”

  Their kiss was a mere brushing of lips, a brief tasting, yet one that sparked heat along all Carey’s nerve endings. He shivered, feeling an answering tremor go through Jase.

  “Would you, uh, like to see my apartment?” Carey asked hoarsely. “It’s really nice.”

  Jase kissed him again. “I’d very much like to see your apartment,” he said with exquisite formality before releasing him and shouldering his ruck.

  Linking their fingers together, they ambled across the courtyard toward the small collection of one-story duplexes that made up the staff apartments. Once inside, Carey stood back and watched Jase turn in a circle, taking it all in.

  It wasn’t much, only around nine hundred square feet, but it was the first home he’d ever had as his very own; a hospital or barracks room didn’t count. Boringly square, with white walls and basic brown carpet, it nevertheless had big windows and lots of light, and Carey had chosen to fill it with plants.

  They hung from hooks in the ceiling, or grew from colorful planters that he’d picked up from kitschy little shops and roadside stands. Herbs sprouted in his kitchen, and on some wooden ladder-style shelves in his bedroom, every graduated step contained a plant.

  It was cheerful. It was calming.

  It was his.

  “I love this,” Jase said softly. He unlaced his muddy boots in the entryway and left them just outside the front door. “It’s so…you.”

  His heart starting to thud, Carey helped him off with his ruck, then moved back into his arms. “How about a shower?” he murmured, stroking Jase’s nape with his thumbs. “And something to eat?”

  “Oh, God.” With a faint groan, Jase dropped his forehead to Carey’s. “Some real food sounds fucking amazing. I’ll shower and then we can go out.”

  “Nope. I’ve already cooked. Go get cleaned up, then meet me in the kitchen.”

  Lifting his nose, Jase sniffed the air. “Mmm, I smell it now. What is that?”

  “You’ll see.” Turning him by the shoulders, Carey gave him a little push in the direction of the bedroom. “Fresh towels on the bed.” He sent him on his way with a light slap to his ass, laughing at Jase’s mock-offended yelp.

  While he waited, Carey unpacked his ruck and threw his sweaty, dusty clothes in the wash, making a quick detour to grab the ones he’d been wearing off the bathroom floor. To his delight, Jase was singing quietly to himself, and bonus, the frosted glass of the shower door gave him an intriguing glimpse of his naked form.

  Carey leaned against the doorway with a sigh, picturing suds sluicing down a muscular chest, and a flat, ridged belly, only to get caught up in the mat of hair around…

  With a gulp, Carey fled, his senses—and his nipples—tingling.

  Back in the kitchen, he checked the carefully set table one more time, and unnecessarily rearranged the rose he’d placed in a smoked-glass bottle right in the middle. The colorful woven placemats had matching cloth napkins next to them, and plastic goblets held sparkling water on ice, lemon slices hooked on the edges.

  The warm hands that settled on his hips from behind made Carey squeak. Jase pulled him back against him and put his lips to his ear. “I saw you peeking just now,” he murmured, taking his earlobe between his teeth. “Not gonna lie, I was hoping you’d join me.”

  Letting out a shaky breath, Carey leaned back against his broad chest, tilting his head helplessly to the side when Jase mouthed along his neck. “Then you wouldn’t get to eat.”

  “Not food, anyway.” Grinning at Carey’s embarrassment, Jase sprawled out in one of the dining room chairs. “Tell me what smells so amazing.”

  Carey lifted the lid on the small tureen in front of him. “Lemon chicken quinoa soup, and homemade bread with butter and fresh, local honey.”

  “Wow.” Jase’s eyes widened. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble, babe.”

  “I wanted to.” He ladled some soup into Jase’s bowl and cut him a slab of the bread, watching with bated breath as he slurped up a large spoonful and then closed his eyes in apparent ecstasy.

  “This is so good. Why didn’t I know you could cook?”

  “You never asked,” Carey said drily.

  As they ate, Carey made sure they only talked about mundane things, like the ranch work he’d gotten done during the past week.

  “And I, uh, spoke to Layla yesterday,” he finally said, watching Jase carefully. “Quinn got the drum tracks laid last weekend—they sound great, by the way—and Rusty is going up tomorrow.”

  “Good.” Jase nodded vigorously, sopping up the last of his third bowl of soup with some more bread. “Wellman told me it wouldn’t be a problem delaying the vocal tracks for a few more weeks. He was actually super understanding about it.”

  “He loves Byrney, and the ranch.” Carey nibbled at his own piece of
bread. “I’d never met him before, but apparently he’s been up here several times.”

  “He told me.” With a discreet belch, Jase leaned back in his chair and linked his fingers behind his neck. “He’s also going to refer me to his therapist, a combat vet like Tom, who splits his time between San Diego and L.A.”

  “That’s awesome. Thank goodness for Wellman.” Taking a deep breath, Carey asked, “So this week went okay?”

  He tensed, fists clenched on his thighs, as he wondered if Jase would deflect, or give a bullshit answer.

  Instead he nodded, his gaze direct and open. “It was hard,” he said. “Talking about it was fucking rough, but it was good, too. Helpful. We all unpacked some shit.” He gave a shudder. “A lot of shit. But it was good.”

  “I’m glad.”

  Pushing his chair back, Jase held out his hand. “Come here?”

  When Carey lightly grasped his fingers, Jase pulled him around the table and into his lap.

  “I need to be honest with you, before we go any further,” Jase said softly. “What happened in Afghanistan isn’t something I’m going to talk about. Ever.” His thighs were rock hard under Carey’s butt, the muscles quivering. “I plan to repeat it only one more time, and that’ll be with my new therapist.”

  Keeping his face and eyes neutral, Carey nodded, his fingers combing gently through Jase’s hair.

  “Do you understand?” Jase’s voice held a faint note of pleading. “Talking about it puts me in a dark place, Carey, a place I’m trying really hard to climb out of. I can’t keep going back there, I just can’t.”

  Carey stopped the flow of words with his mouth, kissing him with the utmost gentleness. “Of course I understand. It was never about you sharing the details with me.”

  Jase gazed up at him, his eyes liquid with emotion.

  “It was about…this.” Carey waved his hand in the air. “Talking. No, not just talking, you being honest with me. You letting me see your pain and telling me what you need. No breezy bullshit. No ‘I’m fines.’ No treating me like I’m not strong enough to take care of you the way you take care of me.”

  “I’m sorry. I never meant to imply that.” Jase’s gaze was steady on his. “I’m just—I’m used to being the caretaker, that’s all. It’s my default, my comfort zone.” He shrugged. “A good medic always looks after his guys.”

  “Well, this guy wants to take care of the medic sometimes, too.”

  “I know. And I’m trying. I can’t promise it’ll always be easy for me, and I’ll probably make some mistakes along the way, but I’m trying.”

  “That’s all I want.” Carey smiled. “I love you.”

  “Carey…” Jase’s voice was barely audible. “I don’t even have the words for how much I love you.”

  “I don’t need the words.” Carey stroked his nape. “You showed up here, on one of the most important weekends of your life.” He shook his head wonderingly. “I still can’t believe it.”

  “Like I said, you are my priority. We are. Period. The end.”

  “I know.” They kissed softly, lingeringly, and when Jase pulled back, Carey whispered, “That’s why I spent a lot of time this past week talking to Bill.”

  “About?”

  “About starting a satellite operation in San Diego.”

  Jase froze, then gasped. “What?”

  “Yep. There are a few veteran organizations down there already running ocean therapy programs, like surfing, kite boarding, things along the same lines as Byrney’s backcountry trips.”

  Jase clutched at him as Carey went on. “I’m going to be approaching them, to see if they want to partner with us under our fundraising umbrella, be the San Diego extension of Hope Ranch.”

  “And if they do?” Jase breathed. “Does that mean…?”

  “It means I’ll be spending part of every month down there. Actually, most of every month, if I start working with the band, too.” Carey squeaked when Jase pushed him off his lap and surged to his feet, only to yank him back against him.

  “Really? Oh, my God.” Jase’s voice was muffled in Carey’s neck.

  Carey held him tight. “I’ll still have my work to do here at first, but if everything works out, I’ll eventually be based full-time in San Diego.”

  “Holy shit.” Jase pulled back abruptly, his eyes searching his. “Are you sure?”

  Nodding, Carey leaned back in his arms. “If you can find the courage, if you can face your fears in order to make us the priority, then I can, too.” He splayed his palm over Jase’s wildly thundering heart. “We’ll take it slow, okay?”

  “Super slow.” Jase’s lips brushed his, softly, chastely.

  With a groan, Carey smoothed his hands up his chest to his shoulders. “Really slow.”

  “Slow as molasses.” Jase nipped Carey’s lower lip teasingly, then nuzzled his cheek, the roughness of his beard sending a quiver of excitement through him.

  “Maybe not molasses,” Carey breathed, pulling his mouth to his, their kiss this time more urgent. “‘Cause I think I’ve found a new item for my bucket list.”

  “Yeah?” His hands cupping Carey’s ass, Jase squeezed. “What’s that?”

  Carey arched against him with a gasp. “Waking up in the morning with whisker burn all over my body.”

  Jase’s hazel eyes kindled into hot green flame. “Well, let’s check that one off the list right now.” He bent his head, then abruptly straightened.

  “What’s wrong?” Carey cupped his cheek, the hint of vulnerability now on his face sending a bolt of tenderness through him. “Jase?”

  His voice was hoarse. “Are we really gonna do this?”

  Carey knew he wasn’t talking about bucket lists, or whisker burn. Unspoken in his question were the words, Are you ready for this?

  The sands of change shifted restlessly under his feet again, but this time Carey welcomed it. He wasn’t afraid of it, and he would never be again. He smiled to himself. Well, if he was, he’d have Jase by his side.

  “We really are.” Carey lifted on tiptoe to kiss him lightly. “We’re in this together, right?”

  “Always. I love you, Carey.”

  They’d just started to inch toward the bedroom, kissing, when the buzzing of Jase’s phone drifted to their ears.

  They looked at each ruefully.

  “Layla,” they said in unison, chuckling.

  “It’s the future calling,” Jase quipped as he tugged Carey after him and went to answer it.

  Our future. Our future together.

  And suddenly, Carey couldn’t wait.

  To read more of Byrney and Trevor’s story, check out POINT OF CONTACT by Melanie Hansen and Carina Press!

  Also by Melanie Hansen

  Available now from Carina Press:

  Point of Contact – 2019 Lambda Award Finalist

  Loving a Warrior – 2019 RITA™ Award Finalist

  Keeping a Warrior

  Trusting a Warrior (November 2020)

  Available now from NineStar Press:

  Pieces of Me

  See My Words

  About the Author

  Melanie Hansen doesn’t get nearly enough sleep. She loves all things coffee-related, including collecting mugs from every place she’s visited. After spending eighteen years as a military spouse, Melanie definitely considers herself a moving expert. She has lived and worked all over the country, and hopes to bring these rich and varied life experiences to the love stories she gets up in the wee hours to write. On her off-time, you can find Melanie watching baseball, reading or spending time with her husband and two teenage sons.

  You can find Melanie on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, or visit her website.

 

 

 
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